Children's Tears
by SunlightShining
Summary: When a baby is born with a skin deformity, Erik is found father and when the baby's mother dies from childbirth he must find a family to take her in, or learn to be the father he never had. Erik winfant, T to be safe. Not marysue. GiryFamErik friendship
1. Rumors and Reflection

**When faced with life alone, Madame Giry brings up a strange and tender subject to the reclusive 'phantom'. She claims the child is Erik's blood. Now faced with the fact he has somehow fathered a deformed baby girl, Erik must set out on a quest to find someone to raise her the way he could not be raised. Along the way, could he learn to be the father he never had? And perhaps reconcile his long resented past. AU/continuation ALW&Leroux influences T for safety.\**

**Author's Notes**! Dig it! A new story. A warning, before you proceed. This story is not proof-read or deeply edited. It went from mind to page, through openoffice writer's spell check and a grammer read-through. Nothing else has been edited. You have been warned. Now on to the story. We will talk more at the end of chapter 1! EMBARK!

Chapter 1 - Erik

5:15 PM Thursday,

Erik sat on the stony ground. He was a long, long way from the surface. Notes drifted into his troubled mind in the silence. They always played, even when there was no sound. They played for him, floating evermore in and out of his genius-plagued mind. His fingertips brushed the reflective waters. He was sitting beside the lake with his legs stretched out before him, thinking about how other people weren't like him. His eyes drifted over his rippling reflection. He didn't have his mask on...He didn't wear it down here, it wasn't as if anyone would see. After almost eight months in hiding he returned to stay for short stretches of time, living in the house he built, playing on the musical instruments he adored and had to leave behind on that unspeakable night.

His reflection scowled back at him. He wasn't bothered by the look of his face. It didn't fill him with the same sense of rage that it once did. No, he looked at his reflection not even thinking of his appearance when he wondered about the people who weren't like him. His mind wondered what it would be like not to feel them, to see them all around him. The notes, the pitches, the tunes that danced in and out of his mind and body all the time. They never ceased, his thoughts never cleared of them. He wished to himself that once he might have been able to have this gift nurtured, allowed to develop and grow without the restriction of his physical appearance. He wondered if he didn't have the deformity if the genius would have been allowed to him. He supposed it was the price he paid for such a gift.

You see, to Erik music was so much more than a tune. It was tangible, real. It was visible in every room, it was rhythmic in every heartbeat. So much so that it flowed through his every part. When sometimes he struggled with simple things like writing a straight note or letter of a word, when his fingers brushed the ivory all the tunes that he couldn't block out were allowed to flow into and then out of him in a wonderful array of power and magic. He never needed trained. As soon as something musical entered his life he began to understand that "feeling" the notes in the air was connected to the music.

The awful, out of tune machines that played sick little diddys on the circus grounds long ago had torn at his brain when he would hear them. The soft whisper of women's voices or their gentle humming felt rough but comforting to him. He was so effected that often times it drove him mad. So mad as Christine's voice had driven him mad. He trickled his fingers over the water's surface again, loving the way it's sound felt like distant harps. Everything around him urged him to play, to get absorbed in the music and never eat, never sleep, never live and never die. Unfortunately Erik was only human. Instinct would take over, even if he did indulge his over-active genius and play until he was satisfied (which, he reasoned, would be never)

Far later on they would come up with a term for what Erik was. A Savant. Someone who suffers severe disabilities of the mind to gain extreme abilities in some category. The reason why architecture came so easily to the man, but a problem such as 24xa48 might baffle him for hours and eventually throw him into an uncontrollable rage. In that circumstance a child should have been encouraged to keep working at the music and gain an incredible amount of skill, and discouraged from letting the second aspect of mental illness to control their lives (the fits of unexplainable anger, the times of extreme frustration and the inability to do the simplest of childlike tasks.) However, though Erik suffered like a child with a learning disability would, he would never be allowed such freedom. Instead, everything was crushed from him, all hope, all explanation, all love. Not one person would offer him a leg-up to society, not with his physical ailments. So he was left to suffer, not knowing what he was was actually special, not cursed. To this day he didn't understand. It had only been one late night shortly after he had been smuggled into this opera house that he realized he was different in more than just the face.

_ "Young monsieur? Are you still down here? I'm sorry, I had ballet for so long today because I made a mistake in my performance last week. Can you hear me monsieur? I promise it's just me...I wouldn't surprise you with a visit..." A young voice called out. She was a pretty girl, several years older than Erik though, for he was only a small child and her a young teen._

_ Margaux Giry did not see him that way, though. She saw a human boy who had been beaten to make a horrible filthy circus make more money than they could do something with. At first she thought maybe the disfigurement was a mask itself. Circuses to her knowledge sometimes made their 'freaks' out of normal people with props on them and low light to make them look real._

_ She looked straight at the little boy shaking with his back against the wall. He still wore the potato sack over his head. She wondered if he would let her see his face again, but let the thought pass as he seemed to be staring with hungry eyes at the food in her hand._

_  
"Oh! I'm so sorry! Please help yourself..." She said suddenly, squeaking a little. She set the tray down on the ground and stepped back respectfully. The boy hesitated and then leaped forward. He snapped up the tray with a suddenness that made her take another half-step back. He suddenly backed down, knowing he had startled her. He backed back up into his corner, sure that the shadows hid him well before pulling his head-covering off. He wolfed down every bite in the darkness as Margaux sat down on the floor. A little poof of dust moved around her when her skirt flopped against the tile. This caused the boy to jump and look up at her, though all she could see was the gleam of his golden eyes._

_ "What's your name?" She asked finally, deciding that if everything made the boy jump, she wouldn't worry about startling him by talking._

_ "I...don't. No name." He answered, almost as if he didn't know his words._

_ "No name? Didn't your mother teach you a name for yourself?" She asked in disbelief._

"_Erik, after my Dad. But she stopped saying my name or anything. Then her voice stopped making sounds forever. I went outside." He said. He didn't quite know how to put sentences together to form a conversation._

_ "But why?" The girl asked, completely fascinated by her new-found little brother. She herself had no family but her motherly instinct was strong. She took care of the younger ballet rats, as well as the children of the maids. Talking to a younger person was natural to her._

_ "Because she died. I thought that when she stopped talking she couldn't tell me i couldn't go so I left." He seemed to begin to remember speech a little more, though his voice was broken and words simple. "The notes are better outside." He said finally, as if it made perfect sense._

_ "The notes? What do you mean, like music?" Margaux asked._

_ "The notes...like all around. When you say something, notes come out"_

_ "That's just a voice..."_

_ "No. It's notes! They come out in a string and float around until all the sound is gone or they are replaced by more notes, like your foot on the tile. You can't see them coming from my mouth 'cause I can!" He almost shouted, frustrated that she didn't seem to understand. "You must have something wrong with your eyes." He said quite finally and like it were to himself._

_ "Me? No one 'sees' notes little Erik...No one. Notes are for the ears, not for the eyes." He looked at her sceptically._

_ "You mean...I'm the only one? But I have always seen them..." He whimpered._

_ "I want to try something...please come out from the shadows.." She said, standing up and hearing him scramble to press himself to the stone wall._

_ "No..I don't want to! You cant make me put that bag on! Don't tell me what to do!!!" he yelled, making the girl panic._

_ "Don't shout! Someone will find you, do you want that?" She snapped, surprised by her own tone. He cringed as the words reverberated._

_ "What ugly sounds..." He muttered._

_ "Besides, you don't have to wear the sack! I never told you to in the first place, fool. I saw your face at the circus, I thought it was make-up then but...it doesn't matter, I'm not scared of you you silly little boy!" She shot. Margaux always had a powerful demanding tone to go with her red hair. She commanded people with little effort and liked the results._

_ Nearly twenty minutes of demanding and coaxing weakened Erik's willpower and he reluctantly stepped out, keeping one hand clasped over his deformed face._

_ "What is that?" He asked curiously, pointing to the things in the girl's hands. So it had been his curiosity that got him, she made note of that._

_ "This is a mini-cymbal. My teacher gave it to me. It makes a pretty sound." She tapped the two pieces of copper together on one side and then the other, making them tinkle out slightly different sounds. Erik closed his eyes and his hand slipped a little from it's grasp on his face as he got absorbed in the echoing sound._

_ "It's dancing!" He said, now excited. "It's dancing all around me! In pretty gold...Can you see how pretty it is Margaux!" She only shook her head a little, finally understanding. This boy was struck with madness._

Weeks would wear on and Madame Giry would find that Erik was struck with both madness and genius. She would bring him instruments and he would do amazing things with them. Things beyond their simple designs. She would eventually bring him a piano (though it took paying off several of the stage hands to move it into the chapel-room), all the while keeping him a secret. At some point he would open up some of the brick into the next room, an abandoned storage space, and begin building his tunnels. That was the start of Erik. She only understood. He had never even told Christine, his angel, about the 'notes' that he could see as plainly as other people saw objects. He worried she might find him mad. Of course, there were a lot of differences between Giry and Christine. For one, Giry accepted, no, demanded she see his face when they spoke in private. She said with the mask on she could not read his expression. She tried to encourage him so much when he was growing up, but her studies prevented her spending the attention on him it would have been necessary to turn him around. She tried to get him to meet the other boys that played there, promising him she would prepare them for him. She tried to convince him to seek asylum in the dorms that he might make friends and live, but always he refused. When he became a raging teen she left him to his own devices, giving up on changing him until he had finished growing. Until then he would be hormonal and as she had found, beyond any control. She let him move on his own until his twenties, and now as he grew to nearly thirty and she sat at thirty-six, She would interfere again.

But Erik didn't predict this as he stared at the water. He knew Giry knew the whole ado about Christine would come to a bad end, and had tried to privately warn him, but he hadn't listened. Instead she prepared a refuge for him to stay at until the heat died down and he could occasionally start returning to his underground home. He was supposed to be moving his belongings out to his refuge on the outskirts, but he was doing no such thing. He liked to visit and remember to never forget what happened.

There were footsteps, they made Erik nearly jump out of his skin. He wheeled around, grasping at a long piece of debris that stuck up out of the lake (no doubt fallen from the 'ceiling' of the cave-room) He turned his head so his face was in shadow and glared in the direction of the footsteps.

"Young Monsieur?" A familiar voice called out. Erik relaxed completely. It was Madam Giry, though his muscles tightened again at the sudden tone in her next statement.

"Erik, Get out here now, I dont care if you are half naked and unmasked, I must talk to you it's extremely impor-"

"Yes, Madam?" Erik said, letting his false charisma get the better of him. He put down the weapon in his hand and walked into the room where the voice came from.

"Erik...please, let's go sit. I don't want you to faint" She said, trying to quell the waver in her voice. He snorted. As if _he_ would faint.

She looked straight at him, her eyes not even shifting to accommodate the malformation. It was a normal part of him to her. It always frustrated her why she could easily accept him while everyone else seemed to make a big deal of it. Even Erik himself. If he just kept going, undaunted, people would accept it and move on. She had personal experience with that very need. But that was a different matter. She turned her attention to the matter at hand, which happened to be a very important one. Just as she commanded, they sat. Erik couldn't help but fidget. This damnable woman always did this to him, making him feel like a scolded child but completely loved at the same time. It was so awkward for him to be around her.

"Erik, you must answer me with the truth. Are you...pure?" It was such a strange question, but Madame giry's faint blush made the implications crystal. It took a lot to make the madame blush, but the thought of one of her children having relations was one of those things that left her embarrassed. He wanted to toy with her.

"Please, elaborate..." He said with a wry smirk that only went up one side of his face. He was used to only moving half his expression because the second half didn't usually matter.

"Erik..." She warned. She was not to be tested, obviously. Her embarrassment hadn't quelled the anger that was risen in her chest all day.

"Alright, I'll say I am not sure. My mind has taken me places, Madame. Ones I would prefer to think were a dream! In fact, I often think they are. Many of the girls tell tall tales. If you are looking for a rapist-"

"I am suggesting no such thing." She said icily.

"I assure you, in my alcohol dreams they consented happily, overly fond of ghost stories and excited by them, they wouldn't have even reached for my mask, not _wanting_ to know my identity. It's more alluring that way..." By now Erik's whole face was smiling. But not at the memory of the girl's he had thought he dreamed of laying with, no. He grinned broadly at Madame's sheer red flush at the blatant sex-talk. He continued, seriously though, "But if they claim I raped them in the night they can file their cases against a ghost, for that is all they will find."

"It isn't as simple as that Erik." She growled, holding a hand over her forehead in the blush that had overtaken her.

"Why shouldn't it be? I told you, they were willing, I thought I was dreaming again an-"

"ERIK! A baby was born! She is yours for sure if you are not a virgin! There! I broke the news, may it not torture me any more! You damnable man, I was trying to spare you the shock but oh you make it difficult." She yelled finally, getting to her feet and gathering her skirts immediately. Erik just stared at her as she walked out. His jaw was slack, his mind racing. A...baby...but...that was impossible. He had always assumed it would go without saying he was infertile...the condition...it was most likely a skin disease, which would render him...right? Giry's words rang around the room in hot red waves of colored notes, which didn't help to save Erik from his sudden racing mind.

A baby??

**Author's post-notes:**

Well, There it is, chapter one. I am not sure where I'm taking this little story just yet. I'm not sure if I want to take it in a romantic direction later on or not...I'm written about three chapters in advance, but if you see something you would like to develop later on in the story I will gladly listen. This will, however, NOT be slash at any point, nor an EC fic. It will ALSO not be a sue fic as the baby girl will NOT be the main character. In fact, she is hardly a character, but a sort of clever plot-device. This story is about Erik and his soul-journey. I took some creative liberty on the ages as well as the friendship/family bond between Madame Giry and Erik. These are simply my theories on how it is most likely to be. Margaux is such a pretty name when written. I like cake. Okay, I'll stop. Please leave me reviews so my muses wont leave me...;)

PS: I own nothing


	2. Devious Deeds and Delila's Death

Welcome to chapter two! Thanks for sticking with me, anyone who did:) I have had a long absence...I recently re-located to my new home on the island and i havn't had internet! It was torture...

I'm sitting in a coffee shop now. It's a very nice place. If you are ever in galveston, TX visit 213 java on the Strand. The people here are very friendly. Anyways, less shameless plugs for the folks who gave me internet, more story story time!! Please enjoy. I have to edit the rest of the chapters I have or I would give them to you now. But you will have to wait ;P I hope to be establishing internet very soon. Untill then, here it is

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7:24 PM, thursday

"How did it go Maman?" Meg Giry asked, a small smile playing at her features. She sat in a rocking chair in her mother's study, holding a bundle of blankets and humming softly to the unseen sleeping child in her arms. Her mother's furrowed eyes answered her as the elder Giry stepped into the room and slammed the door.

"Not well. He is difficult! I got angry and left before I wrung his insolent little neck. That man. Oh, he taunts me, playing me like an old maid. He would hear nothing of the idea, he gave me no chance to tell him the details of the mother's condition! Or the Babe's for that matter...all the time trying to play head games with me. Oh lord how I long for the days when he believed himself no better than me.." She ranted. When all rage seemed to be expended, she collapsed into an armchair. Suddenly tear pricked her eyes. "and how I curse myself for not being a better mother to him...Meg my dear, dear daughter. I couldn't keep the promises I made to him when he was a little boy. I couldn't prevent him becoming this hurt and sorrowful man..."

"Maman, you mustn't blame yourself. His life is not over, and neither is yours. There is aways hope. I think that Christine's heart breaking did him some good. From what you tell me of him, he needed the breakdown before the breakthrough. We can still help him..." She said, her large eyes looking softly upon her mother. Margaux looked up at her daughter.

"My dear girl, when did you ever become so wise...and so beautiful. You have grown up so much." She said, an almost wistful look came over her. It was only her very daughter that brought out the spiritual side in Margaux. The side that believed in fate, and in people.

"I do not know mother, I do not consider myself wise...only perhaps blunt for speaking my mind." Meg giggled. Madame Giry stood and moved over behind her daughter. She brushed Meg's hair back from one of her ears and whispered to her,

"I would have you no other way. You will make a change in this world not even Christine Daee can..." She said softly. She stood then, looking over Meg's shoulder at the sleeping child in her arms. Her face hardened the tiniest bit. 'this poor child...she is definitely Erik's work.' She thought to herself.

--

Erik refused to process the information. He refused to believe it at all. He tried to push Giry's angry warning from his mind, feeling an uncanny swirl of apprehension in his stomach about being in trouble with her. He took another swig of the strongest alcohol in his cupboard, hoping he would wake and it was all a dream. Alcohol dulled many things. Normally every drop of water that dripped from the cave's ceiling would plink a bright note, forcing Erik's mind to automatically identify the exact pitch and scale it had cast before letting him be free of it. It was like that for every single sound around him. The drink made them dull and fade though, turning them into slightly nagging thoughts he almost couldn't remember. He liked it better that way. He wouldn't play much when he drank, though. It either empowered him far too much and he found himself feeling however the music told him to, or it made him sloppy at the keys. Neither one was very constructive.

He pressed his lips to the cold glass bottle again, feeling the liquid burn it's way down his throat.

--

2:30 AM, friday.

"Madame! Madame Giry please wake up!"

"MAMAN!"

"Madame Giry it's Delila...she's bleeding so much..."

"Maman wake up, please hurry!"

Margaux's eyes snapped open to the sight of the midwife and her own daughter both standing over her bed. The midwife was coated in blood and there was more on Meg's hands. Immediately she know what had happened. She stood up and pulled a cloak over herself. Without a word the three of them began running. Up the passageways and down the halls until they reached a room where several girls were gathered around the door crying. One of them looked up at madame Giry and wailed, throwing herself into the older woman's arms.

"Madame she is dying!! The baby has killed her! What shall we do? How come God didn't save her!"

Margaux recognized the girl. She was April, a close friend of the girl who had been dying since the baby was born, Delila. "April, let me go or there is nothing I can do." She said, strict and cold as she was with almost everyone in public. April let go, falling into the arms of several other ballerinas who all still wore their night clothes and cloaks to cover themselves.

Giry was grim as she entered the room. There was a lot of blood, so much that she could smell it on the air. There was also raspy breathing. So, Delila was still alive...but the nurses in the room it seemed had found nothing more they could do for her than keep her comfortable. Giry had seen this happen before. Slight, thin girls were perfect ballerinas, but they made lousy child-bearers. A girl needed broad hips and a strong back for that. Whenever one got pregnant there was aways a risk involved. Still, they often couldn't contain themselves, especially when the chorus boys would lure them to bed with their fair faces and soft songs. No doubt nine months ago a very drunken and possibly sleep-walking Erik came to this little glutton-for-ghost-tales rat and she hid with him willingly in one of the senior girl's private quarters. Giry bowed her head as the nurses called the death. There was simply nothing that could be done. When she stepped out and announced the dark news there were fresh streams of tears and wails. Madame Giry reminded herself that she must speak to all the girls about commitment to their art and waiting until later years for men. She and Meg spent the rest of that so-early morning comforting girls and helping them back to their quarters, weeping.

Finally, she was able to retreat herself and get some rest. She knew it would be short lived, though. In a few hours she would have to wake and choices would have to be made about the baby. Erik's baby...

--

8:00 AM Friday

"It's a plan, Meg. We will see what becomes of it. And you are sure she is willing?" Madam Giry nodded to the plump middle-aged woman standing silently next to Meg.

"She is, She has expressed it to me more than once." Meg replied, her blue eyes bright with the fire of micheif. The woman next to her dipped her head once in confirmation of meg's statement.

"And she has met the babe?" Madame Giry asked, positive to cover her bases, "And warned about Erik's condition...and his temper? His drinking?" Instead of Meg answering, the woman next to her simply nodded again.

"I have explained to her every bit of what might happen before involving her with the phan- I mean to say Erik..." Meg replied, now seeming to get impatient to get her plan underway. "If you would just take her down to him and explain that he is the child's only relation...I'm sure he will-"

"Okay, Meg. I grant you permission to do this. But be careful when _you _bring this woman and baby to him and explain your plans." Margaux explained with a smirk. She had successfully put the responsibility on Meg for carrying out Meg's schemes. That way, if this worked the younger giry could be rewarded in her heart, and if it didn't well...she could learn that for every action there is consequence. No matter how old and wise Meg got, Margaux would always be her mother. That, in Margaux's mind, gave her the right to teach her.

--

Post-story notes: Weee...Hope you liked it. I hope to be uploading within the week. Hope you enjoyed...Please review if you are there. I know this sort of story isn't popular, but Im hoping this one will not be stereotype...

Meg is one of those girls...just like her mother. Those would-be obnoxious if they weren't so damn honest.


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